Assassin
by xakattak
Summary: A oneshot based on one of my favorite songs. Lose control in increasing pace. Wantonly waste intention erased. Whatever they say, these people are torn. Wild and bereft, Assassin is born. Disclaimer: I don't own those lyrics. Credit goes to Muse.


**Assassin**

A/N: This one-shot, my first, is based on the song _Assassin _by Muse, and it's one of my all-time favorite songs. I highly recommend it. It's weird, and very political, but that's how I like it. I got the idea from BabyGurl278's one-shot called _Foolish_, though this is much darker. On with the story.

* * *

He bounded over rooftops at the speed of light, holding his weapon on one hand and using the other to keep him balanced. The rooftops were close enough together that he could easily jump from one to the next. 

His target raced through the streets below him, quite aware that someone was trying to kill him, but without knowledge that the same person was right above him. His guards surrounded him, and they were without any transportation besides their own feet.

The assassin's long, black, pointed cap flapped in the wind with every leap. His black tunic, changed from the regular green, was sticking to his skin in the heat. He paid no mind; he wasn't even winded, and he had been at this for a long time.

War was overdue. The so-called "leader" of this nation was weak. Opposing forces were closing in on their nation, and their leader did nothing. The assassin took matters into his own hands, disguised as the opposing nation.

His target raced around a corner. The assassin nimbly leaped across the road, caught hold of a wooden rafter, and swung to the other side of the road like a gymnast, landing on another rooftop, not losing his target for a second.

Many of the assassin's colleagues would have said his intentions were erased, and that this was a wanton waste of time. The assassin felt differently. The people were torn, wild, and bereft of a good leader who would defend them from the enemy. The assassin decided it was time to take matters into his own hands.

If the citizens knew it was him who decided to assassinate their leader, his image would change dramatically, and in a negative way. That's why the assassin decided to change his physical appearance to match that of the enemy, so that when a member of their opposing nation killed their king, the citizens would demand war. It was a flawless plan.

The king was about to leave the city, still watching over his back for his killer. The drawbridge was beginning to open. The assassin moved quickly and drew ammo for his weapon and aimed carefully. There was a city guard opening the drawbridge with a contraption that required manual spinning.

The assassin fired. The arrow flew through the air and pierced through the guard's helmet. Blood spurted. The drawbridge stopped. His target was trapped.

Several citizens were pointing up at the assassin. That was exactly what he wanted. They saw him.

It was time. This leader was losing control in increasing pace anyway. The nation would be much better off without him. The assassin had no remorse.

The assassin reached into a magic pouch on his belt and retrieved an invention with a claw on the end, attached to a long chain that could be shot from the user's hand. He aimed carefully and released it just as his target caught his eye.

The assassin released the clawshot. The claw opened up like a bird of prey's talons, ready to snatch up its quarry.

The claw, as the assassin had hoped, closed around his target's neck. It began to pull back toward the assassin, bringing the target straight to him.

The assassin had doubts as to whether the target would survive this part, but theatricality won out. The target survived, but his neck was severely bruised.

The target was now standing directly in front of his killer. The assassin saw fear in his eyes. It didn't even faze him.

The assassin drew his blade and drove it through his target's heart. The fearful eyes grew wide in pain and shock.

The citizens below were screaming. The assassin retracted the blade from his target. The king then collapsed. They were on top of a building, so the king tumbled off the edge of the roof and hit the cobbled road with a sickening thud. It was over.

The guards below began to shoot at their king's killer. The assassin quickly leaped down from the rooftop and entered a nearby building on the opposite side, where the citizens weren't aware that their leader had just been killed. The building was quite empty.

The assassin opened a door to a nearby room and quickly changed out of his black clothes and into his green clothes. He also removed the mask that hid his face and took off his black wig. He now appeared to be a young, blond-haired boy. The entire nation knew who he was; he was the Hero of Twilight.

Assassin is born.

* * *

A/N: A much darker take on Link, huh? This is my first Zelda story that's connected to Twilight Princess.

Now, I'm sure many of you have realized that I write too much about Zelda and not enough of anything else. Don't you worry; the Dark trilogy will be my last Zelda stories for a while. I've got a lot of ideas. Anyway, please R&R. It would be greatly appreciated.


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